This was the German's song, and it sounded as though it had been played on a fish horn. The Chinaman could be seen to shiver as he deposited a pailful of water on the bank, straightened erect, and looked at the singer. There was that in his slant eyes which brought the German to a halt.
"Don'd you like der song, shink?" demanded the Dutchman, pushing out his chin in an irritating way.
"Woosh!" snorted the Chinaman, "you makee sing all same like poodle dog makee howl."
"Py shiminy," cried the Dutchman, "I fight pedder as I sing. I don'd let no monkey mit a pigdail make some foolishness mit me."
"Dutchy boy clazy," declared the Celestial.
"I nefer liked der shinks anyways," went on the other, dropping his stick and his bundle. "Dey vas sheap skates, you bet you, und vas alvays taking avay goot shobs from American fellers. I vill tie you oop in some bowknots mit your pigdail und trop you py der rifer. Yah, so."
"Dutchy boy makee spell 'able,'" and the Chinaman, with supreme contempt, picked up his empty pail.
"You peen afraidt mit yourseluf!" shouted the Dutchman.
"My plenty busy; makee cally water fo' calliope. No gottee time to fight. Come 'lound after palade, China boy makee Dutchy boy suppa' fo' lion."
"Dot's me," breathed the Dutchman, picking up his stick and bundle. "I'll be aroundt after dot barade, you bed my life, und I don'd make some subber for der lion, neider."